Targun stood with his arms folded across his mid-rift, rubbing either of his arms. He wasn't cold. No, it hardly got cold in Aradia. In fact, he was hot. The Sulf-robes were made of a thick fabric, covered with light silk. He couldn't imagine why his ancestors had decided to make the clothes this way. From his studies, Sulfa was one of the hottest continents in Myrindia. It made no sense to punish its people, then again... he glanced at the high priest. It wasn't unknown for Sulphites to be hard on their own. It wasn't an easy life. But it wasn't supposed to be. Shakur stood at his side; he didn't look uncomfortable about setting foot on this infested platform. Festiva was an aberration. A scar on the land. He could feel the wrongness emanating off it setting into his bones, making him squirm.

"Will you stand still," Shakur hissed without moving.

Targun went rigid. "Sorry High priest."

"it's just... what are we doing here?"

"We're meeting someone."

"Down here?" He asked without even thinking.

Shakur grabbed him by the ear and twisted so hard he went to his knees. "Are you questioning me boy?"

"No, sorry, it's just..."

The priest twisted further, but he didn't cry out, it would only be worse if he showed pain.

"You're forever sorry Targun, always apologising. Will you ever learn?"

"Yes, yes, yes," he said over and over, the cartilage in his ear cracked and the pain made him cry.

Shakur released him and then put his foot on his back and pushed him over onto the rocky floor. "Pathetic, and I had such hopes."

Targun lay on the floor trying to figure out what exactly he'd done wrong this time. He knew it didn't take a lot, but he could usually figure out what sparked the High Priest's rage. Lately, it seemed to be his mere presence. But he didn't let the thought keep him down, it would only spur more punishment. He got to his feet without another word.

Shakur didn't say anything. He just waited, occasionally glancing towards the other side of the platform. A swirl of dancing fog and dark shadows where the old caves used to be. Erya's grandfather had had them destroyed to disarm the Sulphites and win the war. Shakur appeared to be plotting, but Targun was afraid of asking. He simply stood in the shadows, his eyes trailing the spectacle. The swirling lights, amalgamation of voices, melody on the breeze, it blended together into an emotion. One that he registered as happiness. It was that he sensed on the platform. He gagged. If the high priest knew what he was thinking... he shuddered. He had to get away from this place. Back to the familiarity of his bare walls and evening prayers.

He was about to suggest he head back when someone appeared. He knew right away that the man was close to death. It wouldn't be obvious too any but a trained Sulphite, if used incorrectly, the usage of Gift-stones was an addiction to all other races. The effects, dramatic ageing with every use. However, there was nothing visible but a yellow hue, almost like a bad tan, it was only internal where it could be seen. The victims' organs would shut down long before they showed any of the signs.

"Shakur," the man said in greeting.

"Reeka," the High priest responded, a scowl on his lips, he didn't want to be here anymore than Targun did, "did you get it done?"

Reeka nodded. Even in the shadows he glowed yellow. The whites of his eyes like twin lamps, the signs of his body rejecting him. "They fell for it. Started a fight like you said and split up."

"Good, that'll put a spanner in the kings plans," he said more to himself than them. "And the stone?"

Reeka held up a blue stone. "Here's the little beaut."

Targun gasped in surprise which earned a shake of the head from Shakur. But he couldn't help it, a perfectly circular stone, it was a rarity, one of, if not the most powerful of the stones.

"And they don't know where you got it?"

"Not a clue," said Reeka. "Now, your end."

Shakur held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Reeka's grip tightened on the stone. "This. Is. Mine." his breaths were ragged.

The high priest shrugged. "What good does it do you, you could use, deplete it, but it'll only kill you faster. Let me show you how to use it properly, how to enjoy the effects."

Reeka's internal struggle ended with him handing the stone to Shakur, who explained how to use it before handing it back.

Reeka didn't waste a moment, the second it touched his hands, he used, inhaling the smoke like the addict he was, he used it all, until the stone was nothing more than a pale reminder of power, which he dropped to the floor, discarded. Useless.

"I want more,' he said, his colouring was better, the whites of his eyes shining brightly.

"I have another task for you, but you'll need help. I need everyone."

"That's a lot of stones Shakur, you sure you can deliver?"

"If you do," the high priest challenged. Then he gave his orders.

"Done," Reeka said before turning and walking away, "you know where to find me when you've got what I want." And then he was gone.

Targun refrained from asking what exactly had just happened. He knew Shakur, he would tell him, he was the only one that he knew of who the High priest could share his dark plans with.

It didn't take long. "I'm glad you saw that."

Targun remained quiet.

"These are the people that will do what's necessary for my plans to succeed."

"Forgive me High priest but giving them stones. Abilities... I don't see how that benefits us if they turn on us with those powers..."

"I didn't expect you to understand Targun, that is why I brought you along. Do you know why I use these lowlifes?

"Of course not, it is because they are desperate, the Stones, I've given them have made them addicts, they cannot live without their fix and because of that they cannot live without me. I own them. I control them."

Targun understood that. He heard it in Shakur words. "I own you."

But he didn't say that. "That is why you lied?"

"Yes," the priest clapped, "you're getting it now."

Targun nodded. He hadn't missed Shakur's explanation on using a stone. It was wrong. It would kill Reeka, and whoever else the High priest had manipulated into his service.

"So, what's next?" He asked.

Shakur's eyes drifted to the dark caves across the light and sound of the Festiva as if there was something important within. But he didn't say, and Targun knew better than to ask. "First we get out of this hole, and then, we end the kings plans once and for all."

Targun stepped onto a disc deep in thought. The nightlife had rattled him in a way nothing before had. The lengths Shakur would go to derail the kings' plans went against everything he'd been taught, everything that he believed. Yet, the king's plans, as honourable and good intentioned as they couldn't be allowed to proceed. It was unfair, but that was a curse, that was the price to protect them all.

He barely registered that the Disc had come to a stop, only moving when Shakur called. Ordered, commanded, told. That was his role in this, for now, it would change, he thought looking up at the tower, if all went to plan, he would replace the king atop the throne, he would take the Gift-abilities, and he would be the one in control. But the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed, the High priest was too clever, too manipulative to let him rule his way... He would have to play his own game, lay his own plans, make his own moves, and he knew exactly where to start. 

*Shè*

"Erya," Shè disagreed with him boldly. She was one of the few who would, "this tournament cannot afford to take this long."

The king was resting his chin on his interlocked fingers, watching the leader of his army pace around the chamber.

"If you don't stop, you're going to burn a hole through my carpet."

Shé stopped and looked him directly in the eye. There were so many emotions in those wide green eyes, in the way her full lips moved, how her freckles danced when she smiled, or darkened when she was angry. It was easy to read the pity warring with defiance. "I know your reasons, but the pieces are moving. Whispers of a rebellion, a gathering army, Aradian citizens vanishing never to be seen again. Gift-stones being stolen, and an increase in Forcian sightings across the continent."

"Shè," he hated sounding desperate, but the young warrior was the only other person who knew the truth, who knew exactly what was going on, "those things have nothing to do with this tournament."

She cocked her hips. "I know enough to know that the number of sightings isn't normal, there is something wrong with the shield."

Your shield, he heard it, even if she didn't say it.

"The shield is as it's always been. It doesn't weaken," he held up his hand to stall her. She huffed at that, blowing coppery coloured curls out of her freckled face.

"There is something else at play here, Forcian offspring have always found their way onto our shores, despite the shield. There could be a gap, a hole in it that they've penetrated."

Shè twirled her long hair on her finger, curling it more, even if Erya thought it impossible. "I don't know... why now? What changed, but your plans to —

"Shayla!" he warned glancing around his chambers, they were less grand compared to his father before him, where opulence once overflowed, his rooms held nothing more than a long wooden desk stacked with enchantments and beakers filled with different coloured liquids. The only thing remaining was the thick carpet below Shayla's feet, a map of Myrindia knitted in incredible detail. There was nobody around. But it didn't mean there was no one listening. The walls were thin, especially, with Shakur stalking his shadow like Peter pan.

"Apologies Erya." she turned away from him, pacing again as she analysed the situation, the problem, the solution, and the outcome. She was a marvel this human, he had seen it at the mere age of seven. She had showed up at the training yard and demanded to be taught swordsmanship, hand to hand combat, strategy and even had the nerve to ask to ride a Whirr-beast.

That nerve had never failed her, even now, in front of her king. Shè spoke her mind. She held nothing back, the same way she had fought on that first day, unskilled, but with courage that meant no matter how many times she was knocked down and humiliated, she got back up, again and again, until she gave them no choice but to train her, to teach her. She had risen through the ranks quickly, her skill growing as fast as she did. From a skinny dirty red headed girl, into the confident woman standing before him in the captain's uniform, black leather riding pants and a tight fitting golden sleeveless top showing the contours of muscles beneath her skin. There were knives in black holsters on her wrists and ankles and a sword strapped to her thigh. The first woman warrior of Aradia and man did she deserve the title. But it wasn't really the weapons, or the strength that made her dangerous — deadly, it was her ability to out-think her opponent. It always seemed like she was a few steps in front of her adversary. As if she predicted the moves before they were made and then formed her own to counter and defeat them. Even now, she was scheming, debating how to convince the king to change his mind.

She spun, her eyes alight, the expression victorious. Here it was. "What if the tournament is expanded?"

He nodded for her to go on. "Instead of the seven leaders, we open it to all of Aradia."

There were flaws in the plan, but Shè was quick to address them.

"I know you promised the winner your Gift-abilities, but realistically, do you expect any of the seven to lose after you prime them."

Of-course she knew he was going to offer the leaders some of his gift-abilities as a test. A test that would...

"It will work," she cut across his thoughts, confident now, gathering steam as the ideas came, "if you are seen giving the people a chance to lead it will ease some of the rising tension, and provide others with an outlet to vent."

It might even dissuade people from joining this rumoured rebellion, he thought.

"And if everyone is occupied with a tournament. It will give my soldiers time investigate the missing Stones, and this gathering force." She pursed her lips.

"What is it?"

"I just worry that if we're too focussed on hunting down rumours and ghost thieves, the Forcian problem could get out of control."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about them," Erya grinned at the face she made, attempting to figure it out before he informed her.

He gave it a few seconds, just to tease her. But she was too impatient. "Out with it then king."

God, she was rude. He always thought of her as a daughter, he was proud of her in a way he was of — he dropped the thought. "We can't offer everyone a chance to join and not your soldiers."

She nodded already piecing it together.

"But for once we will have the numbers," Aradia didn't have a massive army, there was no need with the shield, the most the men and woman under Shè's command had to deal with were small disputes and little scuffles. Aradia was a peaceful nation, but she was becoming restless lately. And Shayla needed the numbers to uncover the why and the who.

"It might also help us recruit others."

He nodded. "To enter the tournament, the participants must bring back proof of a dead Forician."

Silence. Shè's green eyes were scrunched, deep in thought. "That'll work," she eventually decided, a warrior understanding, strategy over danger, besides, the participants could choose if they wanted to partake or not, it wasn't like they were being forced into danger, "it will clear Aradia for a while, giving my unit a chance to investigate the claims."

"I'm glad I could help Shè."

She shook her head at him. "I must warn you my King," she put emphasis on the title, "you're playing a dangerous game that could have deadly results."

He nodded his mouth growing dry. Would have, it would have deadly results. He shook the thought away. He couldn't let that deter him; he had made a promise a long time ago. He would break the curse; his line would be free, and it would begin with his death...